Dark to light and back again
by TheGirlWhoShips
Summary: He could see it in her posture, eyes, and face. She wanted it to end. Perhaps he could help and make a difference, perhaps he couldn't. But he could certainly try. (Oneshot) (Trigger warning)


"-Yes, Lestrade, I'll be there! No, if Anderson bothers me I will be returning home, and you know it by now," Sherlock said into his mobile phone, striding confidently down the street, John by his side. He shot Sherlock a reproachful look at the second sentence.

"You wouldn't leave a case unless it didn't interest you. You just ignore Anderson," he pointed out. Sherlock glanced at him, scowling slightly.

"Shut up, John," he grumbled, walking faster. Rolling his eyes, John allowed him to go ahead. He really didn't feel like going fast ; he was exhausted.

Meanwhile, Sherlock moved swiftly through the packed London crowds, before he felt a presence behind him tap him hesitantly on the shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?"

He turned impatiently, ready to snap at whoever it was who dared interrupt him. To his surprise, a young teenage girl was standing awkwardly, a small questioning smile on her face (one Sherlock could tell was fake).

"Uh...Are you...Sherlock Holmes?" She asked slowly. He frowned slightly, taking her in.

"Hm...yes. I am, why do you ask?" He asked, damned curiosity overtaking his need to get to the crime scene. A huge grin bloomed onto her face, but he could tell it was forced, mostly.

"I'm a big fan, really! I'm Natalie, by the way! I mean, you're really quite clever, more than that really! you're amazing! and-"

"You're depressed."

These two words had the girl screeching to a halt, blue eyes widening in shock and slight horror. She swallowed, before finally stammering, "wh-what?"

"You, you're suffering from heavy depression. I can see it. It's rather obvious," Natalie flinched back as though being struck, the "rather obvious" comment making her wonder how many others could have noticed.

'Then again,' she thought, in slight relief, 'he IS Sherlock Holmes. He can guess anything. No, not guess...deduct,'.

Sure enough, he raised an eyebrow. "Did I offend you? Apologies, but it WAS obvious, really," She took a cautious step back. He COULDN'T know. She'd worked on her fake smile for weeks, nobody had sussed it out yet, and she had expected nobody to for a long, long time yet. Until she was possibly...gone. She glanced down instinctively to her wrists, making sure her hoodie sleeves covered them. And even if they were up, she had smothered her wrists with bangles and bracelets.

"H-how...?" She whispered in shaky disbelief. He raised an eyebrow once more.

"Mostly, it was your expression. You may have been smiling, a convincing act really, but no match for me. It was obviously fake. And then there was your eyes. They showed no happiness, they were just empty. Like you'd given up on everything. You wanted it to end, but you cannot work up the courage to. Something is holding you down here, whatever it may be. Also your posture, you were walking slumped over like your energy was just sucked out, an empty shell remaining. Also..."

After this rapidly paced deduction, he swooped for Natalie's arm, and before she could react, had it in a tight grip. She cried out, arm thrashing, attempting to pull away. But he was firm, and managed to force her long sleeve up. He glanced up, and saw nothing but pure fear in her eyes, the most emotion he'd seen in those blue orbs so far. He pushed her large collection of bracelets up her arm, and Natalie felt faint, as he examined her deepest, darkest secret.

"Yes, this is rather a large giveaway. Next time, try not to make it seem as though you're TRYING to cover it."

"So you agree," she said quietly. It wasn't a question. "I mean, you agree there WILL be a next time?"

He let her sleeve fall back down her arm, and scrutinised her carefully. Finally, he answered her question.

"Perhaps. There usually is. I don't know why you're doing this - though I expect it is the loss of a close family member of friend - however, it has driven you into such deep grief that almost nothing can help you escape," She was silent, and it took Sherlock a moment to realise that she had tears streaking silently down her cheeks.

"My...my best friend..." She began, voice cracking slightly, "Her...her name was Bethany. She was always smiling, the one who was always joking. Everybody loved her. She didn't deserve what happened..." She swallowed, eyes welling up with yet more unshed tears. Sherlock listened, curious to see where this story was going, or in fact if it was worth his time.

"There...there was a fire, see. Bethany made it out in time...her parents didn't. She was devastated, she had to be put in a god-forsaken orphanage! But...she never let on how much it hurt. None of us noticed...but one day, they went in to wake her up...and...and..." She seemed unable to continue, but squeezed her eyes closed and took a shuddering breath, before finally going on.

''She was lying there, eyes open but dull. She was...d-dead. And it was my fault, Sherlock! I didn't notice and what sort of friend does that make me?! I mean, you noticed about me right away! And for months...I never..."

"You aren't a consulting detective," Sherlock pointed out. She simply shrugged glumly.

"Sherlock!" John's voice yelled out. Sherlock looked over, and saw the smaller man hurrying over. He turned back to Natalie.

"It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have noticed, if she was a good actress-"

"She was the best in our class. She wanted to be an actress when she got older," Natalie replied smiling slightly, obviously lost in some memory.

"Well then, she kept it hidden well. You shouldn't do this to yourself. There are people who care, obviously. I seriously doubt she would blame you. You're doing this for no reason," To his surprise, a small amount of light seemed to glint in her eyes, a small but true smile on her face.

"Thank you. Really...thank you. That helped more than you would...will ever know." She glanced over to John, "your friend's waiting. You'd best go."

He nodded, hurrying over to his blogger, with only a glance over his shoulder. Natalie was gone, lost in the buzzing crowds of Londoners.

It appeared, however, that Sherlock didn't help as much as thought. For a few weeks later, sipping on a cup of tea, courtesy of John, he came across a surprising news article.

It explained of the suicide of local sixteen year old Natalie Foreman, and sure enough it was the same girl he had encountered. He scanned the article, before abruptly standing up.

"John! I'm going out," he called, not waiting for an answer before slipping on his long coat and hurrying down the stairs, hailing a taxi when he got out.

Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the very cemetery that his fake grave was placed in. He briskly looked through the rows of graves in comfortable silence before finally spotting it.

_Natalie Jane Foreman_

_ August 23, 1997 - September 12, 2013 _

_Loving friend, sister, daughter and Grandaughter _

_Until the very end _

He stood a metre away, slight sadness entering his heart.

He had genuinely thought he'd convinced her not to. He bowed before it, murmuring a quiet "I'm sorry", before turning away once more. He had thought he'd stopped her. But even Sherlock Holmes could be wrong.

_Every day, hundreds of people take their own life because they believe themselves to be a nuisance, they believe themselves alone and more. But you are not alone! People can help, and will. You just need to ask. You do not need to take your life. Imagine your close family of friends, finding you lying there,still forever. Please reconsider! Keep looking up!_

_**AN- I'm not depressed, I wouldn't pretend to be an expert on these things. But one of my closest friends is, and I've lost track of the number of times I've had to convince her to not commit suicide. I wake up every day, terrified she won't show up to school, and I'll be told the life changing news. But we seem to be able to help her, for now. Hopefully we're good enough to hold her here. For how long, I don't know, hopefully forever.**_


End file.
